


the road not taken

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Bonding, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Intimacy, Married Couple, Married Sex, Platonic Cuddling, Romance, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for revolvers's birthday, from the prompts betrayed, hurt, silk. Nancy reflects on choices she's made as she prepares for Bess's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the road not taken

**Author's Note:**

> Some quasi-spoilers for Files 72-74 (as in, the Mick Devlin debacle).

It's so, _so_ very late when the girls finally leave the club. Outside the air is heavy and muggy-wet; the drenching late-day summer storm blew through with a raucous display of blinding, whip-fast lightning and muttered booms and cracks, but the atmosphere feels thick and stifling again. A punishing, insistent storm for the night, a day to dry out, then a clear, cheerful morning—that's all Bess wants.

Couples and college students and friends out for a night of celebration or drowning their sorrows are starting to emerge from remodeled warehouse clubs and brick-fronted dim bars dotting the block, blinking, shielding hands and wary glances, hair frizzing and clothes clinging as they head to the next locale. Everyone else has gone home, and when Nancy glances at her phone for the hundredth time, she's shocked to see that it's only twelve-thirty. She feels weary and oddly homesick, even though she's been excited about tonight since she and Bess and George and the other bridesmaids planned it. Maybe it's all the expectation, or the weekend ahead of them. She's Bess's matron of honor, but George is her maid of honor, and as much as George seems to hate all the fuss and formality of her cousin's wedding-of-the-century, Nancy's glad she has it. Bess was Nancy's maid of honor, precisely because _this_ is exactly her. She's still sporting the stagey fake veil and bride-to-be sash, and Nancy has to chuckle when she sees Bess taking a selfie with Mindy, gesturing thumbs-up between them. Her lids are a little heavy from all the shots and drinks bought for her, and she's happy-buzzed, gesturing and grinning.

Of the three of them, Nancy _always_ pictured Bess marrying first, even though Nancy and Ned were together through half of high school and all his time away at college. It's just such a serious step to take with someone, but Dave's a good guy, and Ned's already assured Nancy that he'll make sure his Omega Chi brother and good friend treats Nancy's best friend right.

Nancy can't help smiling to herself at the thought. Bess and George are her best friends and always have been, but Ned... Ned is her closest friend, something just a breath more than a best friend. He knows her better than she knows herself sometimes, and as their first wedding anniversary approaches, she's still amazed at how incredibly fucking lucky she is. She and Ned have grown closer, not further apart. They've nursed each other through colds and hangovers, stayed up to cheer each other on for most- or all-nighters and fallen asleep tangled in the comforter when the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. When he knows she's had a bad day, he tries to get home early and put the kettle on the stove for her so she can have tea, and more often than not a small, inexpensive bouquet is hastily arranged in a repurposed jug vase on the coffee table. When she knows he's had a bad day, she sends him messages and cute pictures to cheer him up until she can see him again. And no matter which one of them is feeling bad, the other will be waiting and ready to provide a long, comforting hug. She's come home with her heart broken before, feeling crushed and depressed and unable to even talk about it, and when he holds her, it all just starts to relax. His palm strokes over her back and his lips brush her neck and as soon as she's crossed that threshold, the world is on one side and _this, them, us_ , is on the other.

She feels it, a prickling down her spine, before she sees him, and a small half-shy smile quirks her lips. Sometimes she's aware of how she must look when she sees him, but she has eyes for no one else, and her heart is twinned to his. His heart beats in her chest.

He has his hands in his pockets, and a smile on his face, shoulder leaning against a streetpost half-plastered with water-smeared offers for guitar lessons and badly-copied flyers for local concerts. She's always found him impossibly handsome, with those full kissable lips, his square jaw and long-lashed dark eyes that make her weak-kneed in anticipation when they're low-lidded with desire. His dark hair is a little rumpled, but it just makes him hotter to her, and the five o'clock shadow lining his jaw makes her shiver. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen when she was fifteen years old, when they met; he's even more than that now. He's the other half of her heart.

"You look like trouble," he murmurs, when their eyes meet.

"Are you looking for trouble?"

He nods, reaching for her, lacing his fingers between hers. "Definitely, beautiful. You guys having fun?"

She nods too, and her heart melts when he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. He's the only person she's ever wanted this close to her, whose touch she craves, who makes her heart race this way. "But I should be getting home."

His eyebrows rise. "Oh, Nan—that's not why I came out. I was just talking to Dave for a while and I was gonna head home, but I wanted to check in and you weren't answering your phone."

She digs through her purse for her phone and pulls it out. "Oh. It was so loud in there, I didn't even hear it. I'm sorry, babe. But yeah. I do need to get home."

"Nan!" Bess calls to her, a pout on her face. "No guys tonight, we agreed! Oh, hey Ned."

He waves, then glances from her face to Bess's. "I know it's still early, but mind if I take the matron of honor home? Sorry to be such an asshole."

He's doing this for her, so Bess doesn't get mad at her for wanting to leave the party early. She squeezes his hand gently in thanks. Bess would understand, but it's also nearly her wedding day.

Bess wrinkles her nose. "I only have two nights left," she sighs, then comes over to Nancy. "But I don't blame you for wanting to get home," she says, wrapping her in a hug. "Still on for tomorrow night?"

Nancy nods, hugging Bess in return. "Of course, sweetie." She and George have both agreed to stay with Bess the night before the wedding, just the way Bess and George stayed with Nancy. She can still remember it, how scared and excited and happy she was, knowing that in less than a day, Ned would become her husband. She enjoyed every second of that last night with her friends, and the next day, when she had walked down the aisle to Ned, she had felt like she was coming home.

"Is it okay? Are you doing okay?"

Bess nods. "I'll call you around lunchtime, all right? And you make sure she gets to bed, okay, Ned?"

Ned nods. "I'll tuck her in myself."

Bess pats his arm and saunters back to the group, and Nancy releases a long, pent-up breath. She had thought the night would be at least a few hours longer. To go home and decompress and get out of her high heels and tight dress...

She unzips her dress as soon as the door of their apartment is closed behind them, tossing her purse in the direction of the couch, stepping out of her shoes. "Oh my God," she moans.

"Was it that bad?"

"No, no. Not at all. It just makes it all the sweeter to be here, you know?" Once her dress slithers to the floor, she collapses onto the couch with a sigh, wearing only her underwear, large hoop earrings and a long necklace. "It was a fun night. It was just, for some reason—I couldn't stop thinking about getting home."

Ned picks up her shoes and dress, and she flutters her fingers in a vague, wordless protest, a promise that she'll take care of it, but he heads for the bedroom anyway, returning barefoot, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. "I know what you mean. Bess getting any cold feet?"

Nancy shakes her head. "Not that she said. It kinda feels like a miracle, but I think it's gonna work this time. I think she's finally found the right one, and she's so happy."

"Dave's happy too. And a little scared out of his mind, but I think that's normal. It's huge."

"It is?" She turns to him with a little smile as he sits down next to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders. "It's the easiest thing in the world."

"Now it is. But that week before we were married?" Ned shakes his head.

She raises an eyebrow. "Did you have cold feet?"

"No, not at all. But I was scared." He says it so calmly, no urgency, no shame in his voice. "You're everything to me, and I—I just wanted to do this right. To be the best possible husband to you that I could be. I wasn't afraid of _this_ ; I was afraid of screwing it up, of doing something wrong."

She leans over, resting her head on his shoulder. "You make it look so easy," she murmurs.

She can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again. "Because it's with you," he murmurs. "It's easy to love you, honey. I always have."

"And I always will," she whispers.

They both have to work in the morning, so she drags herself to the bathroom and scrubs her makeup off and brushes her teeth while half-asleep, going to bed in an oversized t-shirt and little else. When she cuddles up with her husband, her front is pressed to his bare back and her arm is draped over him, her leg between his. She feels like she's home.

His hand touches hers. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night," she whispers against his shoulder blades, her lashes drifting down.

The following night isn't the first night she and Ned have slept apart since their marriage, thanks to business trips, but she misses him almost unbearably. The three of them are at the Marvins' house in River Heights, and Ned's at the apartment in Chicago. It's strange to remember how this used to be, how she would spend the night at Bess's house even when Ned was home in Mapleton and not feel this almost magnetic pull to him. It wasn't until—

But she doesn't think about that. She's loved Ned for a long time, and what she feels for him now is so intense it's beyond love. The world around her and around them can be chaos, but their life together is her safe haven. No matter what else is going on, she trusts him and what they have completely.

So she and George and Bess watch videos from their childhood and laugh, dipping into a bowl of buttered popcorn and eating massively unhealthy junk food together for the last time—at least, the last time two of them will be unmarried. Bess already has a French manicure booked for the morning, but Nancy and George paint their nails while they're chatting with Bess, soothing her jittering nerves, reassuring her that everything will be okay in the morning. It comes back to Nancy then, how for a while they had come up with the most ridiculous scenarios the night before her own wedding day, saying that _of course_ no one she or her father put behind bars would interfere, and _of course_ she wouldn't be kidnapped by some vengeful stalker on the way to the church, and _of course_ she wouldn't faint once she reached Ned at the altar...

She remembers something else from that night, and for the second time she consciously puts it out of her mind. Tonight is about Bess and making her wedding day as perfect as they can.

"The ring is safe, right?" Bess's eyes are wide and round.

"Of course, sweetie. Safe in my purse." George pats it; it's a small, starkly functional zippered one that looks like it was designed to survive being dropped off a mountaintop, but definitely not to serve as the perfect accessory for a night on the town.

Bess sighs. "And I'm sure Ned will keep the other ring safe."

Nancy nods. Ned's been best man before; he's quite familiar with the responsibilities, and she can't wait to see him dressed up in his tux for the ceremony. "It'll be fine."

Bess props her chin on her hand. "Tell me it's sex every night and no fights ever and just absolutely perfect," she murmurs. "Tell me it's easy."

Nancy shakes her head. "It's the easiest thing in the world, and the hardest," she admits. "We fight sometimes, but at the end of the day, he's still my best friend. We don't have sex every night, far from it, but I wake up beside him and I just can't believe how lucky I am, every morning. And I want that for you—for both of you. To find that person who will always be there, who makes your life better than it would be without them. I never doubt for a second that he's the guy for me."

And then George talks about her last few dates, the guys she's met and chatted with, and that leads to a discussion of the many, many guys Bess has dated and fallen for, and how Dave is so much better than all of them. There's a difference in her expression, her voice, even the set of her shoulders when she talks about him, and Nancy can't help it. She hopes with all her heart that her husband is right, that all she sees in her friend means her marriage will be incredible, and everything she needs.

Then Bess brings out some of their old yearbooks, and they laugh and cringe over the pictures, awkward bangs and braces and clothes that were trendy then and are well out of fashion now. She and her two best girl friends have been through so much together, and it's the kind of nostalgia and night that leaves her hugging both of them and telling them how grateful she is for them and all they mean to her. They had been afraid, the night before Nancy married Ned, that their relationship with her would change and they would be less important to her. While Ned is definitely the priority in her life, keeping in touch with her best friends, sending emails and messages every few days, scheduling lunch or dinner every week or two to catch up and have fun with them, is nearly as important.

She almost drifts off during the last movie of the night, one that was their favorite when they were twelve years old, but once she's lying with her arms folded and her eyes closed in the dark, waiting for sleep to claim her, it simply won't come. She misses Ned, and talking about being married and all it means to her, all her friends mean to her, has brought it back. Part of their rules tonight involved no cell phones, but Bess is snoring quietly, and so Nancy sneaks to where her phone is plugged in, moving so quietly.

Ned's sent her a message. _About to go to bed. Love you, see you in the morning, sleep well. Miss you._

She doesn't want to reply and wake him if he's managed to fall asleep, but she smiles. Tomorrow night, Saturday night, once they're home from the wedding reception, she wants to make special. Maybe they'll be able to spend most of a lazy Sunday in bed or on the couch together, cuddled up. They spend a lot of their work week tired and spending so little time together that the weekends are infinitely precious. She has a dark-gray silk chemise trimmed in black lace that she hasn't been able to wear for him yet...

_Love you._

She settles under the comforter again, running her thumb against the curve of her engagement and wedding bands, and releases a long slow breath.

She thinks it's time. She thinks that it will be okay, now.

She doesn't even see Ned until the midmorning brunch, because there's so much to do: facials and hair styling, photos of all of them getting ready and touching up their makeup, last-minute panic about the flowers, the bouquets and boutonnieres and centerpieces, ferrying out-of-town guests from the airports and the local hotels. Ned's in a Cubs t-shirt and jeans when she sees him, sitting at the long table set aside for their party, and they exchange tentative smiles through the crush; as soon as Nancy has helped seat Bess and George's grandmother at the table, she heads over to Ned. He puts his mug of coffee down and opens his arms to her for a hug that feels all too brief. She's too used to seven-hour hugs that last until the sun's up.

"Last night good?"

She nods and smooths her palm over his hair. "It was good. I missed you too, though. Did you hang out with the guys?"

"Some, yeah. I think we're heading to Dave's parents' hotel room to relax for a while after this. You holding up okay? You look gorgeous."

She smiles. "Thanks. Yeah. And you might want to get a nap in, if you can."

He gives her a knowing, crooked grin. "Oh yeah? So weddings really _do_ put women in the mood, huh."

"We'll see." He rubs her back when she kisses his cheek. "Be good."

"Always. Mostly."

Nancy can't eat much; Bess's appetite is worse. They snack at lunchtime, in a flurry of activity, taking group photos in the few hours between lunch and the ceremony, with Ned in his tux and Nancy in her antique-gold lace bridesmaid gown. Bess wanted everything unique for her wedding, and the long bridesmaid gowns are formal, but they will be able to wear them again. Bess's gown, though, is a hand made white-whipped confection of tulle and lace, satin and silk, sequins and pearls. On a less vibrant woman it would be too much, but on Bess, it looks incredible.

"You were right. You look amazing, Nan."

She blushes happily, looking up at her husband. "I said the dress looked amazing," she corrects him. "But thank you. You look very dashing and debonair, Mr. Nickerson."

"Of Her Majesty's Secret Service," Ned jokes, lacing his fingers through hers. "And I stand by what I said. You look amazing. You look radiant."

She smiles again. "And the ring is safe?"

He gives her an exaggerated surprised face, then pats his breast pocket. "Yep. Gandalf will be pleased."

She wrinkles her nose and stands on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek, then wipes away the trace of her lipstick. "Her Majesty's Secret Service, huh."

" _Your_ majesty," he tells her, a small smile curving his lips, and brings her hand up to brush a kiss over her knuckles. "At your service."

She almost doesn't notice the clicking of the shutter behind her, but when she does, she blushes a little again. There are so many pictures of her and Ned on their wedding day, gazing into each other's eyes, holding hands, smiling at each other. The photographer had needed to stage so few of those, and most of them are her favorite photos of them. Her dress wasn't a handmade original creation, but to Nancy the smaller things had been important: making the table centerpieces with help from Bess and George, Hannah and Edith; perfecting her wedding vows; choosing the perfect track for their first dance together. For her, it was perfect. For Bess, today will be as perfect as it can be.

The wedding is scheduled for six o'clock, and the church is full of pleasantly buzzing guests, many of whom Nancy recognizes. In the small room at the front of the church, Bess is almost hyperventilating. Nancy is helping repin a flower into another bridesmaid's hair. An ominously purple cloud approaching will mean a rainy reception at the club, or some very picturesque sunset shots, and everyone is praying for the latter.

When the other bridesmaids are lining up, Nancy gives Bess a gentle hug, careful not to crush her flowers or veil or dress. Bess's golden hair is sleek and pinned up in curls, and her makeup is perfect and understated. "You look beautiful," she tells her. "I'm so happy for you, honey. Everything is going to be perfect. It already is."

Bess sniffles, her blue eyes shining. "Don't you _dare_ make me cry my mascara off, Nan," she sniffles again. "I know I probably won't stop once I see him. I love you guys."

The groomsmen, the best man, and the groom are waiting at the front of the church, and Nancy walks out before George and Bess, her bouquet in her hands. A part of her was wondering, and it does come back to her, so strongly. She remembers so vividly her own wedding day, seeing Ned up there waiting for her in his tux just as he is today, and her heart in her throat. She was so nervous and so happy, terrified that something would go wrong, that she would forget her vows. But she had never been so sure, and she is completely positive now, that marrying him was the right choice. He is the other half of her.

She remembers focusing so much on not screwing up, but today she has little responsibility. She watches George take Bess's bouquet, just as Bess took her own, for the exchanging of the rings, and when the minister begins to say the formal vows so Bess and Dave can repeat them, Ned's gaze meets hers, and she melts a little. _To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do us part._

His lips form the words as Dave says them, his gaze locked to his wife's, and tears rise in her eyes. When Bess speaks her vows, Nancy breathes them too, looking into Ned's eyes.

She hopes that this has meant as much to him as it has to her. She wakes some nights and finds herself in his arms, his legs tucked up behind hers, his breath ruffling her hair. The little things he does for her, the presents, the foot and back rubs, his lips brushing against the back of her neck... sometimes she fears that all the comfort is his to give and hers to take, and she tries the best she can to return the favor.

He told her once that she was so self-sufficient that it was hard to provide anything for her. Slowly she began to let him see her weaknesses, until she finally gave him the last piece she could.

Once the minister declares them husband and wife and tells them they can kiss, they walk back into the smiling crowd while exchanging happy grins, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen pair up. Ned has apparently already talked to the guy beside him; he steps out for Nancy, offering his arm, instead of waiting for the maid of honor.

"I love you," he murmurs, while the recessional fills the church and the gazes of the crowd are locked onto the happy bride and groom.

"I love you," she murmurs, barely louder than a whisper, and she can't help grinning too. She's so happy for her friend, that everything went well, that everything was perfect. And Ned's here beside her, and soon she will be in his arms again.

The exclusive club Bess selected to host her reception is breathtakingly beautiful, boasting an incredible view of the city's nightscape. The photographer has Bess and Dave out on the balcony to pose them for some more shots, and the music is already playing when Nancy and George walk in. Lavish arrangements of lilies and roses, gardenias and orchids, in shades of white, cream, blush-pink, and lavender decorate the ballroom. The cake is a massive towering confection made to look like a sweeping, beautiful wedding dress, complete with a curling satin-ribbon sash and Bess and Dave's initials joined on the bodice. It's gorgeous and it's a little over the top, and it's totally Bess.

And Bess is radiant and beautiful, laughing, her arm linked through Dave's as they walk back in. Nancy's smiling when she feels a pair of arms circle her waist, and though for a second or two she feels her heart speed up with the beginning of panic, she relaxes once she recognizes him, the scent of his aftershave, the way her body fits against his.

"Brings back some memories, huh," he murmurs against her ear, then kisses her just behind it.

"Yeah," she murmurs, resting her hands over his. "It really does. I love you so much, Ned."

"I love you too, sweetheart. And I can't wait to dance with you."

They have to wait until after the buffet dinner to dance: shrimp cocktail and bacon-wrapped scallops and tomato and mozzarella salad, melon balls and fruit chunks and grapes and halved strawberries, goat cheese and bacon stuffed dates, sausage-stuffed mushrooms and lobster rolls and, of course, deep-dish pizza. The champagne toast, the cake cutting—Nancy and Ned clap just as loudly as the rest of the guests, cheering for their friends and their happiness.

The first dance is for Bess and Dave, and once the DJ calls them out onto the floor so they can begin, Nancy touches Ned's hand, and laces her fingers through his. He glances over at her, and she can almost read his thoughts, or at least she hopes she can.

"What's better than a first dance?" she says, her voice pitched low so only Ned can hear her, repeating the question he asked her during their own first dance.

"That it's just the first," he replies, and they both smile.

Once the DJ beckons other guests onto the dance floor, she moves into his arms and relaxes for what feels like the first time all day. Nancy will stay until the happy couple has bid farewell and slid into the waiting white limo, but then... oh, then. Bess and Dave's life together will begin, and Nancy will go back to her own. There will be couple-dates and grilling on the patio, and someone to talk to when she and Ned have decided they might want a baby. It won't be soon, but she can't deny that she's imagined it a few times.

And all that is tied up in tonight. She's been slowly shedding parts of who she was, who she used to be, the parts of her that hurt them. With him, she wants to be better, and she can be.

"Today has been amazing," he murmurs. "And I'm so happy for them, but it kinda felt like it was us again. You know?"

She nods. "Would you do it all over again?"

"Yeah. Just without the nervousness. If that makes sense."

She smiles, looking up into his eyes. "I think it's sweet that you were nervous," she murmurs. "I was nervous too. It was so much. I wanted it to be perfect too."

"It was." He reaches up and gently cups her cheek, his other arm wrapped around her waist. "And maybe my pride was supposed to take a hit, but it meant a lot to me that you asked me to marry you. That you wanted this as much as I did. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it."

For a heartbeat she's almost afraid of what he will see in her eyes, the tenderness and the fear, and she stands up on her toes to brush a kiss against his lips. "I wouldn't either," she whispers.

They dance together for most of the night, especially the slow songs. Ned dances once with Bess, once with George, and Nancy dances with Mike and Howie. Whenever Nancy looks at Bess, she sees that her friend is incandescently happy, aglow with it, and that happiness warms her too. She stands back when Bess tosses her bouquet into the crowd, smiling a little when George hangs in the back of the crowd, clearly uncomfortable with joining in on the tradition. Ned's eating one last slice of the chocolate-marbled yellow wedding cake when Dave tosses Bess's garter into the crowd of bachelors. The champagne has gone to Nancy's head, but she's just happy.

And then it's time for the happy couple's departure, and Bess's aunt distributes sparklers, and they pass the light along while they wait. The sparklers are brilliant gold-white, eye-searing against the dark, and Bess and Dave are laughing as they walk down the line and head for the limousine. Everything has been picture-perfect. All those guys Bess dated, and the girls Dave dated before now—none of that is important now, because that was _before_ , and this is _now_. This is the two of them together, not their past relationships, not the choices they made before they knew each other.

But Nancy knew...

Her heart is in her throat when she drives home, because she can feel it; she'll lose her nerve if she waits too long, and oh God, she wants to wait. She wants to wait until this has dissolved, but she thinks instead it might fester, as it has for this long already. She needs to cut it out, to move on.

When she takes off her dress, though, she goes to her drawer and finds the dark gray chemise. She's just begun washing her face when she hears Ned come in, and her heart turns over.

His tie is loose, shirt unbuttoned, feet bare when she opens the bathroom door, her face wet and scrubbed clean, and he's every dream she's ever had and everything she's ever wanted. His gaze is appreciative as it travels down and back up, down her smooth bare legs, over the silk that drapes over her.

"Wow," he murmurs. "Baby, you look..."

She smiles and gestures to the bathroom. "Your turn."

"You'd better be awake when I come back out," he tells her, but he's only pretending to threaten her. She's fallen asleep before when they were like this, and she knows what he'll do; he'll curl up with her, holding her, and when she wakes, mumbling apologies and begging for forgiveness, they'll make love slowly and sweetly.

Not tonight, though. She's too nervous to give in to her exhaustion.

She should know what to say, how to do this; she's been living with him for almost a year now. But the words don't come to her, and what she feels instead is miserable and guilty, something she hasn't felt in a long time. It reminds her unpleasantly of things she doesn't want to think about. It's done, it's in the past, they're beyond it.

But that sensation, of admitting a betrayal, sends a blush rising in her cheeks, hangs her head, leaves her fidgeting like some wayward child. And she isn't one. She's a woman and a wife and it's different now...

But part of this, of marriage, was becoming one with him. He has never stopped loving her. He won't.

Even so, she wants to fall at his feet when he emerges from the bathroom, his discarded tux draped over one arm, and he looks at her like the sun rises and sets in her eyes. She feels tears pricking in the back of her throat, and he drapes his tux over the chest at the foot of their bed, then sits down beside her, dressed only in his underwear.

"You okay? Did something happen?"

She shakes her head, her breath catching when he reaches for her hand. "I love you," she says. "Everything about you. Today just reminded me of us, and our wedding day, and how happy I am to be with you." She gently squeezes his hand and forces herself to keep going. "And that I made the right choice, when I was in Europe that summer."

She can feel how tense he becomes when she says it. Some of it, most of it, he knows, but she couldn't tell him everything then. Not when only part of the truth left him feeling so upset and angry.

"He—proposed to me." The words are thick, impossible to speak, and leave a sick lurch in her stomach, and the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving just the two of them in their bedroom and the hurt in his eyes. She can't even say Mick's name; hearing it makes Ned insanely jealous.

"And you turned him down."

It's rhetorical; she answers anyway. "I did. The next day. But I—I thought about it." He releases her hand and stands, his arms crossed, and she crosses her arms too, her long legs bare and chilled by the air conditioning, though her cheeks are flushed. "I told Bess and George that night, and they told me that if a life with him was what I wanted... and I, it had been a while, and we were drifting apart that summer..."

"I remember." He mutters it, but she can tell by the way his jaw is set that he's still angry.

"And I let myself imagine it. That was when I realized that no matter how exciting it seemed, that he—he could never make me happy. He could never build the kind of life with me that I wanted. Oh, we'd have had adventures, but we would never have _this_." She gestures at their room, their apartment. "And this, and _you_ , mean everything to me. You're my home, Ned. You let me relax and have fun and decompress, and the way you love me, the way I feel when we're together, he never touched that, not ever. The wrong guy had proposed to me, and I had missed my chance with you... even though I wasn't ready, not then. When I came back, I decided that—well, you'd put yourself on the line for me, and I'd put myself on the line for you, too."

"He proposed."

The tension in his voice sends her gaze to her lap. She's so nervous that the soles of her feet are steady on the floor, that she can feel each individual beat of her heart. "And I turned him down."

When he touches her chin, drawing it up so he can look into her eyes, she wants to shrink; she wants the floor to swallow her, to somehow take it all back. "I never wanted to hurt you," she whispers, and her eyes are shimmering.

"Were you _with him_?" She doesn't have to ask what he means; this is familiar too, and it makes her stomach churn, the jealousy and possessiveness that she hasn't seen in him in a long time, not since she returned to him that fall and began rebuilding their relationship. "If he _proposed_ to you—"

She shakes her head. "Nothing more than making out," she insists, her words tripping over each other in their haste, all her strength behind them. "I promise you. You were my first, Ned. My only. No one else. You know that."

She can see the tendon in his jaw jumping a little, and then he shakes his head, taking a step back and releasing her. "I guess it wouldn't have changed anything," he says, his voice low. "It just... you didn't tell me. Why...?"

"Because of this," she says, her voice soft and a little pleading, and stands. She swallows before she reaches for him, sliding her arms up over his shoulders. He's still tense with anger, and she can still see pain in his sweet, dark eyes. "Because I couldn't lose you, and I was so afraid. I never meant for it to happen."

The moment that passes before he sighs and rests his warm palms on her hips breaks her heart. "I hate it, but I guess I understand," he murmurs. "You're a fascinating woman, and I'm lucky to have you. It just drives me crazy, to think about someone else being with you. Being that close to you."

"I know."

For the first time she sees what might be the beginning of a weak smile, but it fades again. "So why now? Was he—was he a guest at the wedding?"

She shakes her head immediately. "No, baby. No. I would have told you, or we would have left, or something. And I don't think he would have walked out of there the same way he was."

"He wouldn't have," Ned agrees. "Well, that's a relief."

She gently toys with the nape of his neck, but her gaze sinks to somewhere near his adam's apple. "Last night... you know Bess and George spent the night before our wedding with me. We talked about it then; I guess we couldn't help it. That if things had gone differently, in the morning I might have been walking down the aisle to someone else. But I... I knew. I knew how it would have been. He and I would have eloped. We wouldn't have had a nice formal wedding, or a stable home; we would have been living out of hotel rooms, following leads and chasing cases. We would have traveled the world, but in my heart I would have been alone, because my heart would always have been with you. I could see the Thanksgiving dinners in grubby diners and how my father would have hated him and how lost I would have felt without you and my family.

"And last night it was about Bess and Dave and how right they are for each other, and I feel that way about you. He—What happened with him just showed me that you were the most important guy in my life. Maybe we didn't have a big ceremony like them, but it was perfect for us. Our life... it's everything to me."

"And it's everything to me too, Nan." He kisses her forehead gently, then rests his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes. "I'm glad you told me. And especially that nothing happened between you two..."

She shrugs a little. "I put everything on the line, when I asked you to marry me," she murmurs. "It would have broken my heart if you had said no. And part of this, what we have, is being honest with each other. Maybe I could have just never told you, but it... it felt like a lie, and I guess it was. It was one thing to tell you about that summer, but... the rest of it..."

"Yeah." His fingertips trail up her spine, warm through the silk. "I think I would have boarded a plane and torn him apart with my bare hands that same day, wherever that fucker was. As stupid and macho chauvinist pig as this might sound, Nan, you're _mine._ Forever."

It was true when they were engaged, and it has been true since they spoke their vows to each other. She just gazes at him, her heart beating so hard. A part of her resisted it when they were dating, feeling like a possession, feeling somehow responsible for his jealousy even when she did nothing to provoke anyone. Sometimes, like tonight, it feels nice, that he doesn't just shrug off the fact that she considered marrying someone else, that it weighed so heavily on her. Each of them dated other people, but it's been a long time since she's let herself imagine Ned with his hands all over some other girl, a warm lithe body wrapped around his, and even now it can make her sick and angry. He's _hers_. The matched bands on their fingers mean that the past is done now, but what is between them, in the privacy of their room and their bed, is for them alone.

"Yours," she whispers. "For as long as we both shall live."

The warmth of his smile touches her heart, and when his palms slide down to her thighs, so he can catch the hem of her chemise in his fingertips, she shivers in anticipation. "Do you need to be reclaimed, Nan?"

"I want to be. Please."

"By your husband. By the guy who loves you more than life itself. I don't want you to _ever_ second-guess this. I know sometimes it's hard, but every morning when I wake up beside you, I know that's right where I'm supposed to be."

She cups his cheeks in her palms. "And no man on earth could ever be as perfect for me as you are," she murmurs. "Period."

He brushes his lips against hers, softly, and hers part, and she whimpers softly at the feel of his breath against her skin. He takes a step forward and she backs up with him, letting him guide her toward their bed. "I want you inside me," she whispers.

"We were made for each other, Nan."

Her heart beats harder when he slides his fingertips beneath the band of her panties, against bare skin that only she and her husband ever see or touch. "Yes," she almost moans, and she lets him push her panties down, sending them sliding toward her ankles.

"I love you."

"I love you." She looks into his eyes as she cups his waist too, beginning to push his underwear off. It's the stress and emotional roller coaster of the day, all the reminders of who they once were and how far they've come, and they have so little weekend left. She needs him inside her. She needs to be joined to him, deep inside, showing him all over again how incredible and _right_ this is.

He kisses her again, deep and slow, and she finds the backs of her legs pressed against their mattress. She's still wearing her silk chemise when she pushes his underwear fully off and he takes a small step toward her, and his bare skin radiates heat. She can feel the firm length of him pressing against her, and she flushes, stroking her tongue against his.

He is the only man who has ever known her this way, and he is the only man who ever will. She can't help moaning when he breaks the kiss to nuzzle and trail kisses against her earlobe and neck, until her head is lolling, his palms stroking her bare ass, the small of her back, up her spine. Her blush deepens a little when she reaches down and begins to pull up the hem of her chemise, to help him slip it off her.

"Mmm. Not yet," he says, and she almost groans in frustration. She wants to feel him all over her; she wants him teasing her breasts, trailing kisses over her stomach.

Even so, her inner flesh gently pulses in anticipation when he finally lays her down. He slides a knee between her just-parted legs and leans over her, cupping a breast through the thin silk as he gives her another slow, deep kiss. She slides her fingers into his hair, bringing one knee up, and she's so fucking sensitive, she wants him so damn much...

And that pulsing only becomes more intense when he scratches the edge of his nail over her hardened nipple, through the silk; it drives her crazy, and she releases a long pleading moan. He does the same thing to her other nipple at the same time and she begins to rock and tilt her hips, panting as he kisses her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, her breastbone.

"Baby, _please_..."

He chuckles. "That's right, Nan. I've been waiting all day for this. I waited years for this. And we're gonna make it last, sweetheart."

He teases her, with glancing brushes against her breasts, her inner thighs, low on her belly; his breath against her jaw and her neck, his lips, is so sweet. He kisses and nuzzles his way down, catching her nipples between his lips through the silk and gently nipping, then kissing and nuzzling against her bare belly, pushing the chemise up.

She pushes him onto his back, and she's almost trembling with need for him, but it's sweeter to tease him as he was teasing her; she strokes his muscular chest, lavishing nuzzling strokes and kisses, rubbing his upper thighs, watching him respond just the way she was before. He's eager and impatient for her, but she brushes her fingertips over his erection and balls, ticklish-light, not taking him in her hand yet.

She knows all of him, every inch of him; she's had her hands all over him, has had the weight of him pressing her into the mattress in the afterglow of their lovemaking, has cuddled against him in the winter chill. She knows the taste of his skin, the ridges of his fingerprints, the way he groans when she kisses the saddle of flesh at his hip.

And he's right; they were made for each other. She doesn't know how it is with other partners, for other women, but the way he fits inside her, the way he loves her, is incredible. At first they couldn't get enough of each other; at first, going to bed with him was unutterably decadent, and their appetites were insatiable. Now it feels both more and less than that. She values his support and love even more than sex, but she also needs intimacy with him on every possible level. When their weekends have been too busy and their schedules too crowded for them to sleep together in over a week, she feels irritable, cranky, almost starved. She needs him.

"Nan," he murmurs, and she brings her head up to look into his eyes; when he strokes her cheek, gazing up at her, she melts. She loves the honey-dark warmth of his skin in candlelight, the way it reflects in his dark eyes, but she's always loved the way he looks after a long makeout session, and when they're in bed, the love and desire in his gaze.

And he draws her to him, and she straddles him, her reddish-gold hair falling so the tips brush his cheeks. He cups her hips, his fingertips at the small of her back.

"What?" she replies, her lips turning up in a smile.

He shakes his head. "I love you," he murmurs. "You're beautiful and sweet and funny, and so smart. And I can't imagine... if things had been different."

She dreamed it last night. She dreamed it the way she told him: the nomadic life, the feeling of rootlessness, of marrying and sharing a bed with a stranger. In the dream she realized that she had made a mistake, that her love for Mick was nothing like her love for Ned, that he satisfied her curiosity and her need for excitement, but his infatuation with her left no room for actual intimacy. She dreamed of Bess's impending wedding, finding that Ned was the best man, serving as Bess's matron of honor, but discovering that Ned had moved on too, that he was engaged to someone else, that no matter how they missed each other, their chance was gone. She had been left to live with her choice, her heart heavy with regret and mourning him. He had been everything to her, and she had left him behind, had been too afraid to look back—because she had known that Mick would pale in comparison to the man who should have been her husband.

In the dream, she had shared one last dance with Ned during the reception, her throat thick and aching with all the words she couldn't speak, and he had looked at her with pity, because no matter what, he would respect her decision and her marriage. She had ended their relationship without so much as a call or a note, or any explanation at all, and he had moved on.

In the dream, she had wished with all her heart that she could take it back, and make a different choice. Mick could be her partner in sleuthing, but not her partner in life; she had realized that too late, and the price had been too high to endure.

And Nancy had opened her eyes in the morning of Bess's wedding day, gasping in a sob, because the pain and grief had been so real.

She's thankful, more thankful than she let herself realize. Their relationship was awkward on her return, but she had silenced the voice in her head that wondered if she had strayed from him for a reason, if they weren't meant to be after all.

There was no intimacy without vulnerability, and she had always been so afraid of being vulnerable to him. It hadn't solved everything, but it had drawn them so close.

And she kisses his lips gently, lowering her hips to his. "I can," she whispers. "And I would have traded all of it, would almost have traded my soul, to have a chance at this. I love you so much."

Their kiss starts off deep; the join of her thighs is pressed against him, so she can feel the firm length of his erection, and when he finally peels her chemise up, she sighs with relief when they part long enough to pull it off. She craves the feel of him, the warmth of his skin, her nipples pressed against his chest, his large palms stroking up and down her bare back, combing through her hair. She rubs against him, wanton, and when the tip of her clit comes into contact with his erection, she shivers with pleasure.

"I thought," he murmurs between kisses, "you wanted me—to get inside you."

"Mmm. Yeah," she agrees, moaning as she grinds against him again. The slick proof of her arousal leaves a slippery trace against the underside of his shaft, and she arches her back so just the tips of her nipples rub against his chest as she moves up and down again.

"Enough teasing."

"Yeah," she moans, then gasps when he tweaks one nipple with a sudden pinch, her inner flesh pulsing in answer.

"Let me fill you up, Nan. Where you're tight and hot and wet for me..."

"Mmm..." She loves the hitch in his breathing when she grinds against him again, firm and deliberate. "Only if you let me come... like this..."

"You're going to kill me, babe."

"Make me scream," she groans, then props up on the heels of her hands, her breasts bouncing as she rubs her inner lips against his erection, deliberately stroking her clit against his skin. "Oh God _yes..._ "

"I love it when you get off on me," he murmurs, cupping her hips, and she gasps when his fingertips caress her ass. "But it's pure torture, gorgeous. I'm so fucking hard for you."

"I know. I love it." She bites her bottom lip, looking into his eyes, and then grins. "Pinch my nipples again?"

He gives a little mock theatrical sigh, but when he obeys her, she tosses her head back, rubbing against him more deliberately again. She shifts the angle of her hips and begins to pant for breath, arching against his touch. "Mmmm, yeah, baby, oh _yes_ ," she encourages him, craving more contact, _more_. Harder.

"Ready?"

She reaches the point just before her climax, when she feels like she wants to come out of her skin, when it's just _good_ —and then she cries out as she tips over the edge, as the sensation goes from incredible to a pleasure that's almost pain. Her hips jerk as she grinds hard against him, and she sobs when he pinches her nipples and then soothes them with swipes of his thumbs.

" _Now,_ " she almost whines, and before she's even able to take one more gasping breath he's slid off the bed, rolled her onto her back, and she's quivering when he brings her legs up and drapes them over his shoulders. She lets out a high shriek when he fits the tip of his erection inside her and then thrusts its full length inside her, where she's tender and slick, and it's _perfect._ He fills her up, almost to the point of pain, her breasts tender and her throat aching with it—

And then he rubs his thumb hard against her clit.

She screams, arching under him, her shoulders tensing, her head tipping back. "Yes yes _yes_ ," she sobs, her breasts bouncing as he fucks her with long hard thrusts, still rubbing her clit. She babbles, flushed, nails scratching at the sheet, as that unfathomable tension clenches in her womb, up her spine, beneath her breastbone, in her throat. She wasn't over her first orgasm when he began to fuck her, and now she's insanely sensitive, and every time she gasps in another breath it just becomes a sob or cry.

She's completely in his power, and she loves it. She loves when he moves onto the bed again, pushing her legs back toward her so they're sandwiched between them, and gazes straight into her eyes as he keeps moving inside her.

"Ned," she whimpers, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair, and he turns his head to kiss her palm, to run his tongue against it, and she shudders at the deepest point of his thrust. "Oh _God_..."

"Baby—"

She can feel the tension in his voice, and she whispers "Yes" at almost the same time, and she arches when he buries himself fully inside her and closes his eyes. Her inner flesh is still pulsing against his erection, his thumb is still rubbing in gentle swipes against her clit, and she's speechless, prickling with heat and arousal as she feels him come deep inside her. His weight relaxes onto her and she cups the back of his neck, feeling full and complete, totally joined to him. Her shoulders quiver a little from the aftershocks, as she begins to come down.

"Yes," he groans, and she closes her eyes. There's always the moment of parting, the ache of separation, but for now she's whole.

To never have this, to never have had this, to never know an end to the loneliness or the need. It's unfathomable and it's infinitely sad. She can't know, but she does. As wide and full and complete as her happiness is, her sadness would have been equal to it, without him.

He nuzzles against her cheek and kisses her lips, and she strokes her tongue against his, slow and satisfied. "Yes," she whispers when he breaks the kiss with a quiet pop.

"Was it everything you wanted?"

She smiles as she gazes into his eyes. "Always. You?"

"Mmm." He kisses her again. "Absolutely incredible, babe. Exactly what I needed after a day of having to stay away from you, when I just wanted to wake up beside you and spend the day having sex and eating cereal on the couch in front of the TV."

She chuckles. "Such a hopeless romantic."

"I try." He kisses her once more, then gently begins to part from her. "You know, I meant what I said out on the dance floor."

She chuckles. "You mean about me being naked under that dress and us finding a broom closet?"

"Mmm-hmm. Or the backseat of a car. I'm an easygoing guy."

"Well, I _was_ wondering what the perfect anniversary gift would be..." She sighs after he cleans her up, starting to move under the covers, still naked and shivering as the sweat begins to cool on her skin. "Now get over here and warm me up, Nickerson."

"As you wish," he murmurs, turning off the light before he joins her in their bed, and they tangle together, her forehead against his breastbone, his leg between hers.

Somewhere an echo of her, a choice she didn't make, is lost without him.

But he's here, and her heart is full, and she's safe. She's found. She's whole.


End file.
